It was an eclectic mix of wood and glass that had somehow managed to stay nailed together after five decades of what they called seasons here. The earthquake season seemed to run off and on for twelve months out of the year. But there was also the fire season, the Santa Ana wind season, and if you were really lucky, enough rain to fill the reservoirs, marking the start of flood season.

David had bought the house because their parents were long gone, and he’d always said that if he ever made any money, he would buy a place in this world that he and his big sister could call home. But it wasn’t the warmth that seemed to emanate from the house, or even the view of the city and basin, that caught David’s eye. It was the land, the privacy, and finally, the garage—a two-story building that stood fifty feet away on the other side of the drive. The David Gamble Band needed a home as much as he and his sister did, and that garage looked as if it had potential. Once a down payment was made and the papers were signed, David used what money he had left to convert the building into a state-of-the-art recording studio. A photograph of his pride and joy appeared on the inside booklet of the band’s third CD.

But that was all over now. The studio was dark and quiet and had been that way for the past five years. The band’s third album had been their final one. And David died before they could tour and bring home any real money.

Lena took another sip of coffee, the hot caffeine lighting up her stomach but not doing much for her head. She had gone fifteen days without a break at work until yesterday, and she felt groggy after taking the day off. Besides, she didn’t like thinking about her brother. She missed him and the loss was still way too painful.

Lena was alone, holding the world and the people in it at arm’s length. She couldn’t help the way she felt, and she couldn’t do anything to change what had happened in the past. Still, she worried that she was dumping too much of her paycheck into the house. That she spent too much time trying to keep the place up. That somehow her home had become an obsession, and she was clinging to the property because she couldn’t deal with her brother no longer being here. Things had been so good when he was around.

She picked up the Calendar section of the newspaper, deciding to take another stab at that crossword puzzle. It was Friday, and the puzzles were becoming more difficult with each day of the week. Lena enjoyed the challenge because it took her mind off things. And she was good at it, using a pen rather than a pencil, except on Sundays. But as she reread the last three clues, she knew that it was hopeless. The key seemed to be 51 DOWN, a ridiculously easy clue referring to a woman who’d won a million dollars in a reality series on TV. Lena didn’t watch much television and only turned it on when she had to. She didn’t like what the box did to her head.

She tossed the puzzle down in frustration, sifting through the paper until she found the California section. A local story on page three caught her interest. A twenty-nine-year-old woman from Santa Monica was claiming to be pregnant even though she hadn’t had sex for two years. Lena started reading the article but stopped when her eyes slid across the word Jesus. She shook her head.